Her shoulders were heavy, and her back hunched
as if she carried the weight of the world.
She wore wide hips, though she had not yet bared a child or two.
Her left hand was naked and cold,
impatiently waiting to hold a covenant of love.
She still hadn’t figured out
the motions. There were spasms of feelings
that made her abashed and ashamed;
Probably due to too many failed relationships she could have
avoided, if only she had listened.
The awareness and the judgment of her battered
heart, the questions she was afraid to ask God,
the space created by loneliness and the distance
between who she thought she was and who she really was,
she carried them.
But she refused to tuck them
away like books collecting dust
© 2015 Christina Jackson